


Convergence

by Shamione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Beauxbatons, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione
Summary: Hermione's eldest host sister has been selected as a potential champion in the 1994 Tri-Wizard Tournament, and the Delacours couldn't be more excited. Hermione herself was elated. Her host sister's success meant she too would board the Abraxan drawn Beauxbatons carriage in just over four weeks. To fly 2,100 kilometers to the hills of Scotland.To the best, most prestigious wizarding school in all of Europe.To Hogwarts.AU - Hermione attends Beauxbatons but also so much more coming!
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 25
Kudos: 98





	1. All in a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome! This is just a teaser chapter for an upcoming AU peice I am writing. So many twists in this one!
> 
> I wanted to post to share the lovely, LOVELY artwork that [Ada-Lovelaced](http://ada-lovelaced.tumblr.com) drew for my work! It's a scene from a chapter later on, but that's all I can offer! Artwork at the start of the chapter! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [dirtymudblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood) for your work as Alpha!

"Hermione, tu dois te dépêcher."

"Je serai en bas dans un instant, Mme Delacour!'

"Oui, mon chou."

Hermione sighed with a pleasant smile, allowing the endearment of being designated a cabbage to roll off of her shoulders. Fastening the cover of her embellished trunk, securing it with a flick of her bone-white yew wand, she perched atop her expansive mattress, glancing at the small, unmoving picture on her bedside table.

The dazzling white grins of herself and her mother greeted her, forming a slight tear in the corner of her eye. Hermione missed her mother with an utter fierceness. It had been just over five years since she last hugged her mother close. Since the last time that her mother assisted her with her hair or made her favorite dessert after a heaping pile of spaghetti.

Today marked Hermione's sixth journey to the hallowed halls of Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, nestled deep within the Pyrenees Mountains' center. Undoubtedly one of the most enchanting places she'd ever set foot. Her haven. The refuge where although students were cruel at times, she felt most at home.

She remembered the day vividly, just one month before her twelfth birthday. The life-changing moment she cherished greater than all else when an ornate vase overflowing with flowers appeared on the coffee table in her parents' home, blooming under her touch. As a soft hum of music and an overwhelming sensation of magic swirled around her - a rush of excitement so engulfing, so surreal it was hard for Hermione to forget.

* * *

"Margaret, where did you get these flowers? There are bloody butterflies everywhere!"

"Peter, what are you on about?" Hermione's mother sought, clipping her daughter's mass of curls onto the top of her head with a barrette, which by all accounts shouldn't be able to hold them.

Her step-father's typically irritated voice echoed up the stairs once more. "These damned butterflies in the sitting room!"

"Come along, my duck," her mother groaned with a rock of her head, patting Hermione's back to raise her from the vanity seat.

Hermione nodded tersely, closing the book she'd been reading while her mother primped her hair for the day, nestling it under her arm. She desperately loathed the idea of wandering down the stairs to be subjected to further blame for something she couldn't control. Or something she didn't do. To be forced to hold her tears as her step-father's hand connected with her cheek once again.

"Margaret! Why would you bring these fucking flowers into the house with damned butterflies on them?" Peter scolded familiarly as Hermione and her mother exited the staircase.

"I haven't bought any flowers," Margaret returned, disappearing into the sitting room.

"Well, someone fucking did. Probably your freakish fucking daughter. Get a bloody net or something!"

The curly-haired girl felt a typical course of anger ripple through her at her step-father's noxious tone. A tone that was well ingrained in the back of Hermione's consciousness. A tone of vehemence hissed more often than not when shouting at her, or speaking of her, or punishing her with either a belt or hand.

A tiny butterfly fluttered through the wooden doors from the sitting room then, sprinkling glimmering particles as it flapped toward her. The creature appeared nearly artificial, an unreal blue reflection glittering in the spots on its wings. Hermione loft a finger with a somewhat dazed expression, onto which the insect settled.

A strange sensation of total tranquility befell her mind as she watched the butterfly's two shortest legs rub together. It felt almost as if the bug yearned to whisper into her ear. As if the petite, graceful butterfly sought to carry her toward her own sitting room.

With a dazed rock of her head, Hermione let it draw her body into motion, pulling her into the room where her mother and step-father battled a plethora of dust veils and waving wings. Peter's sneer targeted her as he attempted to knock bugs out of the air, sights trailing her as she walked forward. Suddenly, the flux of insects halted their movements entirely, turning and fluttering into the center of the room to meet her near the coffee table.

Hermione's eyes settled upon a blue glass vase perching unassumingly within the table's center. A faint hum of string instruments echoed throughout the room, seducing her forward. The closer she drew, the further unmistakable sounds of an elegant orchestra of flutes and violins and clarinets played in her ears. A music that wholly astounded her as Peter's record player sat noiselessly in the corner.

One by one, insects descended atop each unbloomed flower and shivered with minute pops into twinkling blue particles. Lively bulbs of light blue lilies and dark blue irises sprang to life, though a single, large bulb in the center of the bouquet remained sealed. She couldn't describe why she felt the need, but Hermione gradually lifted a finger. Brushing it across the bulb's exterior, an excitable sensation tingled against her fingertip, making the hairs on her arms stand straight.

A dazzling ripple of light bounced about the room as the flower's petals slipped open, revealing a thin blue envelope with her given name scrawled across the front.

Hermione's fingers trembled as she eyed the letter's wax seal, a prominent image of two rods intersecting with three stars falling from their tips. Slowly, she slid her finger beneath it, withdrawing a light blue piece of… parchment? It unquestionably was not a sheet of printer paper. The document was thick, weighted, and the delicate handwriting scrawled upon it was unmistakably not inscribed in pen.

Peter's snarl startled Hermione, tearing from her trance as he threw down the flyswatter, storming from the room, mumbling obscenities.

"Mom, this is in French," Hermione declaimed, ignoring the vehemence in her step-father's gaze as her eyes sought her mother's expertise.

"What?"

"This note is in French. Can you read it for me?"

The stiffness in Margaret's frame was evident, eyes trained to the glass vase before her shaking vision rose to the letter within Hermione's hand. "Of course, sweetheart."

Her mother seemed wholly bewildered as she turned the letter over in her hands. Her lips separated, eyelids wide as she merely held the letter tightly, examining the room with a dazed stare.

"Mum?"

"Oh... Oh, of course," Margaret stammered, clearing her throat and swaying her head as if to clear her mind. "Dear Hermione…" her mother started before pausing and pushing her eyebrows together. "This is addressed to a Hermione, but it is not our surname."

"Mum, please read it! Please!"

"Fine, fine. Settle down," her mother scolded lightly, examining the letter to herself once more.

Hermione stopped her foot, huffing loudly. "Mum!"

"I… it says: 'We wish you warm regards, and are elated to have your attendance at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic this coming Autumn.'"

"Magic?" Hermione uttered, confusion undulating within as her mother's wide eyes met hers.

Hermione continuously found herself questioning the unexplained happenings about her and her house. Feverishly, she speculated explanations as to why her school books and pencils would glide across her desk into her grasp. Or why flowers would come back to life with just her yearning for them to survive. Or, how the bits of broccoli could float from her plate into the rubbish bin merely because she wished not to eat them.

And an utter exhilaration swelled within her, a thick grin developing across her lips.

It was magic.

* * *

The old doorbell's chime dragged Hermione from the book into which her nose was stuffed. Days ago, after depositing a relatively unmarked letter into the mailbox on the corner, she had trekked to the small library in the heart of town. Their magical folklore section had been scarce; nevertheless, she had checked out each book and packed her bag to the brim, struggling to carry the weight of them home.

"Hermione?" Her mother's voice echoed up the stairwell. "Come down here, please."

Shutting her borrowed book and nestling it back under her bed with the others, Hermione stepped into the hallway. Her mother's voice sounded rigid, and she took a deep breath at the summit of the stairs to prepare herself for an inevitable onslaught below.

A beautiful brunette woman in a long, flowing blue cape stood next to the door when Hermione reached the ground floor. A somewhat misshapen bolo hat sat on her head, a dark-blue trimmed silk shirt tucked into an identical skirt framing her figure. A silk bow adorned her neck, hanging over her bust with draping dramatism. She had a gleaming grin, her fingers clutching the handle of a small, dark blue briefcase before her.

"Peter, will you escort our guest to the sitting room?"

Her step-father's deep sneer wasn't unexpected as he passed by. But the woman's soft expression and delicate wink as she stepped away were. She was remarkably regal, walking as though she floated on air as her skirt fluttered softly under her movement. And Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away.

"Is there something you need to tell me, young lady?" Her mother stated, snapping her fingers once when the young girl did not respond.

Hermione's eyes only abandoned the sitting room doors after the woman disappeared through them, slowly shifting back to her mother. "I'm not sure…"

"Do not deny it. Tell me what you did. This woman said she was from Beauxbatons."

"I… I wrote a letter…"

"You wrote a letter to a fictional school, and someone shows up on my doorstep dressed as though she is from the 1920s? Do not lie to me, Hermione Granger!"

Hermione's brows furrowed at her mother's unusual distrust. "I'm not! I would not lie to you, mum! I just wrote a letter and put it in the mailbox down the road! I didn't think it would work!"

"You are not to speak, do you understand? I will deal with you when our guest leaves. Upstairs."

"Mum!"

"Upstairs, Hermione!" Margaret roared quietly, sharply, her nostrils flaring as she pointed to the second floor of her home.

Hermione nodded only once before ascending the stairs, dashing to her bedroom and slamming her door loudly - but she wasn't on the inside. She tiptoed lightly to the stairs' zenith, pressing her back against the wall as she listened for voices. When the adults appeared immersed in conversation, Hermione carefully descended the stairs, avoiding the one that creaked along her way. She scurried swiftly, sinking to the ground beside the sitting room door and pulling her knees into her chest.

"We do apologise for ze oversight. Our spell work 'as never failed us in identifying a non–magique born child before," an unfamiliar voice sang with a delicate French twang.

"I'm sure you have the wrong house," her mother's voice responded. "The wrong family."

"I do believe I am in ze right 'ome. Ze return address on your daughter's unconventional letter led me 'ere. 'er name is 'ermione, yes?"

"Yes, it is, but…"

"Zen, I am in ze right 'ome. Zanks to your daughter's letter, we can resolve your 'ost family issue wizout delay."

"Host family?" Her mother asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Mc…"

Her mother's quiet scoff echoed out the door. "Granger. If you cannot get our surname correct, how do I know what you say is true?"

"Did ze flower blossom when your daughter touched ze bundle?" the woman sought.

Hermione squealed with excitement, clamoring to her feet and hurrying around the wall with a brilliant smile.  
"Yes!" 

"Hermione Jean!" her mother scolded.

"Mrs. Granger, our magic is rarely wrong. And I can sense ze power flowing wizin your charming daughter. She needs schooling to 'elp control 'er magic. Do you deny she 'as shown episodes of unexplained phenomena?"

"We do not," Peter spoke finally, a distaste evident in his tone.

"Do you disagree, Mrs. Granger?"

"No…"

"We 'ave very few muggle-born students at Beauxbatons, and zus attempt to match each to a 'ost family zree years before zeir start of schooling. So zey can learn about magic and ze world it lives wizin."

"I see."

"We do apologize profusely for ze oversight, but we 'ave matched your daughter to a lovely family - the Delacours."

Delacours. French, Hermione mused as her body vibrated with glee. She had a host family. A host family to teach her about magic. This was undoubtedly real. She didn't possess the creativity to dream up this lovely woman and her relatively unbelievable story of a world that held magic.

"Zey 'ave joined me today if you would like to meet zem."

"They're here?" Margaret sought, a slight quiver in her tone.

"Zey are awaiting my call."

Hermione jumped up and down a few times, clapping her hands excitedly. "I want to meet them!"

"Hermione!"

"Mum, please! Please!" Hermione bellowed, tears of both excitement and anticipation welling along her lower lid. "I'm so tired of being the weird girl…"

"We… we need to discuss this as a family…"

"I understand, Mrs. Granger," the woman spoke as she snapped open her briefcase, withdrawing a light blue lily. "In ze event zat you choose to allow your daughter ze education she rightfully deserves, please 'old zis talisman and zink my name."

Hermione's mother palmed the lily, pure intrigue crossing her features. "Just think your name?"

"I sense you will 'ave no trouble," the woman nodded as she stood, closing her briefcase and pacing to Hermione. "I do 'ope I will see you in ze future, Ms. Granger. I 'ave no doubt you are destined for great zings," she beamed, tipping her hat once before flitting through the front door, which closed on it's own behind her with a gentle click.

Hermione rushed toward the door, flinging it open to watch the utterly mysterious woman leave. But in the mere seconds that the twenty steps to the door took, the woman was gone. Vanished. The walkway in front of the Granger home was wholly empty.

And Hermione couldn't help but grin at the brilliance of it all.

* * *

Her parents fought loudly that night as Hermione tried to will their voices silent. By the next morning, her mother was striving to happily tell her she would be attending the prestigious Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

Though, her mother's hesitation with her departure was written in every line of her face. The red veins in the whites of her eyes and the black bruise on her cheek made her distress evident. Anguish and misery that her step-father likely didn't echo.

Hermione had felt it deep within her bones as her mother held her close, stroking her inherited wild curls. The small seed of uncertainty at leaving her nest. At leaving her mother alone, unprotected, and unloved.

But the sheer excitement she had felt slowly drowned out her uneasiness. Her mind raced with anticipation as she packed as many books as she could carry in the small suitcases she owned, forgetting clothing was necessary. And when her host mother showed up nearly sparkling on her doorstep, Hermione couldn't help but feel pure happiness at having an opportunity to learn who she truly was.

"'erminny! Come along!" her host sister's voice boomed up the stairs, an utter excitement in her tone pulling Hermione from her reverie with a broad grin.

While she was ordinarily delighted to travel back to her third home, this year was different. This year brought with it an extra layer of enthusiasm. Beauxbatons was taking part in an international feat of magical cooperation: The Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Her eldest host sister had soared to the top of the skills challenges in hopes of being champion, meaning Hermione herself was going to board the Abraxan drawn carriage in just over four weeks. To fly 2,100 kilometers to the hills of Scotland.

To the best, most prestigious wizarding school in all of Europe.

To Hogwarts.


	2. A Carriage Ride for Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [dirtymudblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood) for your work as Alpha!
> 
> I decided to upload chapter 2! I think I'm going to start working on this story for real to save my creative sanity for the crushing anxiety that is Vinculum Terrae.
> 
> This chapter is _a lot_ of world building. Give you Hermione's backstory with the Delacours and a bit of her life at Beauxbatons. I need to establish all of this so that the rest of this story makes sense! This is a huge AU piece and I have a lot of twists / turns, and I really hope you enjoy it!

"Je suis tellement excité!"

"Des choses merveilleuses vous attendent, soeur. Zis is true, 'Erminny?"

"Oui, Gabbie. I am positively envious. Not only is it your first year at Beauxbatons, we are also traveling to Hogwarts. It will be a wonderful year indeed!"

Hermione beamed as dazzling smiles grew across Fleur and Gabbie's faces, her youngest host sister's youthful enthusiasm palpable. A frisson of excitement bubbled in Hermione's psyche as she glanced around at the congregated first and second-year students. A soft end of summer breeze floated through their silk uniforms, gently ruffling dozens of shoulder-length capes as they tarried within the bustling Gardens of Versailles.

Waiting in broad daylight, a gaggle of students and their families scanned the skies for the arrival of a powder-blue carriage, and Hermione couldn't contain her excitement. It had been five years nearly to the day since her only trip on the carriage, each subsequent year a simple Portkey into the chateau, and she relished the chance to share Gabbie's inaugural ride.

How could she not want to spend the next eight hours with the two beautiful blonde girls giggling beside her? She felt as bonded with them as she imagined someone with actual siblings would.

Fleur and Gabbie's wonderous natures were the first things Hermione noticed as she walked through the gold-encased, white wooden doors to Delacour Estate. She could see the echoes of her own nervousness written on the two girl's faces, their level of anxiety evident. But the family's utterly welcoming nature had sated the awkwardness within minutes.

Fleur, the oldest of the two daughters - just a year older than herself - welcomed Hermione by kissing the air about both of her cheeks. She smiled appreciatively as her parents introduced Hermione, informing the girls that she would be living with them for the next seven years.

Gabbie, who had hardly turned five at the time, spoke not a word as her shyness kept her eyes on the floor. She had politely curtseyed from behind her sister's side, their hands clasped in anticipation.

It took several days for the three to feel comfortable in one another's presence. But on one thunderous night, Fleur appeared in her doorway seeking accompaniment into a pillow fort built atop Gabbie's bed, held together only by sheer magic. And the three had been inseparable since. Their kinship didn't come without argument, as Hermione imagined most sisters endured, but she could no longer imagine a life without them.

Without their somewhat insatiable need to play with her hair. Without their persistent natures and big hearts. Without their streaks of naughtiness that landed the three in trouble more times than Hermione could count. Without their dazzling grins as they jumped onto her bed to wake her. Or without their shoulders on which she cried whenever needed.

They were her sisters, bound by fate if not by blood. And both were near spitting images of their mother - stunningly so.

Apolline Delacour was a saint, regardless of how profusely she disagreed. Her pure nature was apparent from the moment she stepped a dainty foot inside Hermione's childhood home. She spent hours speaking with Margaret, consoling her as she cried upon her shoulder. They spoke of Hermione's childhood, her allergies, likes and dislikes, her penchant for a touch of mischief, and the sweets she loved but could not often have.

And when Hermione broke down in sobs wishing her host mother goodnight on her first evening away from home, she allowed Hermione to cry upon her shoulder, as well. Patting her back and cooing that she understood Hermione's deep-seated distress at leaving her mother's nest. With a delicate kiss to her forehead, Apolline ensured that while she had no intention to replace Margaret, she would love Hermione endlessly as if she were one of her own. 

The Delacour matriarch was more often than not a delight, teaching Hermione how to speak French while Fleur and Gabbie practiced their English. French magical royalty lessons were a nightly requirement, generally followed by instruction on the piano and household charms. She was a doting woman, teaching Hermione how to apply thin layers of make-up to enhance the beauty with which nature had gifted her and how to dress to show her modesty and confidence.

The woman did have a touch of fiery rage when things did not go her way, driven by her half-Veela blood. The magical creature's essence made the woman's fury a passionate one. At times, Hermione could even see her nose starting to shift into the shape of a beak before her husband could calm her.

Rage was not the only characteristic that her creature blood bestowed. Her heritage also offered elegantly moon-lit skin and a hypnotically seductive nature, making Apolline Delacour one of the most stunningly gorgeous women upon which Hermione had ever laid eyes.

She was tall, but not overly so. Her figure's curves were proportioned so thoroughly there were times she looked odd - as if sculpted out of clay. Her creamy, pale skin gleamed like moonlight, and her dazzling silver hair seemed to sparkle when she bathed in the sun. And her daughters were much the same - more beautiful than women twice their age who tried twice as hard. 

Her host father, Monsieur Delacour, was nowhere near as attractive as his wife. He stood undoubtedly a head shorter, and his stomach protruded from the bottoms of his shirts when filled with his wife's abundant cooking. Though, in all, he was a charming, kind, and helpful man—the image of the perfect father for which Hermione had so desperately craved.

He was firm with her and his daughter's but never shied away from bestowing affection. Before sending her to Beauxbatons, he taught her to ride a broom, helping her through an apparent fear of heights she hadn't known she possessed. He taught her how to dance the waltz with precision, both to lead and to follow, practicing for hours at each Christmas Eve soiree in their elegant ballroom.

Though his dedication was apparent early in their relationship, it left a somewhat bittersweet taste in Hermione's mouth. Memories of a near fatherless childhood repeatedly pressed on the back of her mind. The cold eyes and cruel words of Peter, who held her with the most contempt, caging her heart from further hurt.

She remembered a time when Peter was just as delightful. Their relationship started swimmingly - he was the local dentist in the small town where she and her mother lived, navigating the world as a duo. She didn't remember the exact time or how their marriage came about, but from the moment the ring slid over her mother's finger, it was like he'd been there all along. Peter was gentle, caring, helping her with her primary school homework, and taking her to the library more times than not.

But the older she grew, the more distant their relationship became. And the first time Peter struck her, just after her ninth birthday, her heart shattered. A broken trust lingered between them as his anger only grew stronger. Insults only turned more scratching. He appeared to live in a state of rage, each slight misstep ending in screams and flashes of fury upon her skin.

Her mother endured the brunt, but that only bred hate deep within Hermione. A profound contempt that sought to smother any possibility of kinship with the Delacour patriarch.

But Monsieur never gave up, winning over Hermione's heart through her mind. He taught her advanced potions and charms after her return from school's first year. Studied with her and allowed her to shadow him within his role at the Ministry of Magical Affairs of France most summer holidays.

Leaving her with a family that she always thought she'd never have.

The family manifested a measure of graciousness beyond comprehension, an utter aura of sophistication lacing every word they spoke and every move they made. And if Hermione hadn't studied their expansive lineages, their unfathomable wealth would have been apparent either way.

Where the intricacies of their clothing gave a small view into their financial stature, their estate made their wealth well known. To say Hermione was stunned as their Portkey landed on a marble staircase was an understatement. She was sure her first lesson was at that moment when Apolline announced that gawking was not ladylike.

But what could she have done?

The estate and the surrounding grounds were utterly lavish - much more elegant and expensive than anything Hermione had witnessed prior. Even more remarkable were the dwelling's insides. Apolline's chuckle after each mannerism correction held firmly in Hermione's mind as they walked her to her new room, down winding hallways lined with portraits that smiled, waved, and spoke as they passed by.

And she nearly wept with appreciation at the suite she entered. Bookshelves lined the walls, all of her required books and many unrequired overflowing the wooden stacks. Multiple sets of silk school uniforms, a new racing broom, and an entire wardrobe of new attire also awaiting her arrival.

Their generosity did not end there. The Delacour's doted on Hermione endlessly, showering her with gifts at Christmas time and her birthdays away from home. She often found herself in the most refined shops in Paris, purchasing new robes and clothing as she grew toward adulthood.

Even the excursion for her wand had been rather elaborate, and they shed not one complaint.

The family traveled to four different shops in fruitless attempts to obtain a wand - one in France, one in Belgium, and one smaller, ornate shop in Ireland. And while each wandmaker could not find a suitable match, they offered knowledge of a somewhat shabby shop known as Ollivander's within Diagon Alley, London's magical district.

The elderly proprietor's peculiar nature was apparent instantaneously, his eyes alighting as the family walked through the front door. But his sights were not trained to her host mother and sisters as men's views tended, but instead to Hermione herself.

He rambled somewhat manically about a tune he'd long ago lost hope of hearing again - the fastidious sounds of woodwinds and strings. He'd stumbled over stacks of wand boxes as he ran through his shop, returning with a delighted grin and soft purple carton with silver trim. 

His hand slightly shook as he bowed, offering her an eleven-inch wand hewn from an elderly yew tree that made the hairs on her arm stand straight. That made her entire body tingle with a measure of anticipation she had never before perceived. A single flourish rippled magic through the air as her host family beamed, pride and happiness swelling inside her as they led her toward the counter to pay.

Ollivander rambled as they trailed him, nearly unintelligible words of the wand's utter uniqueness - only one other sharing the same tree's wood and one other sharing the heartstring of the Antipodean Opaleye dragon.

"'erminny, look!" Gabbie shouted, startling Hermione from her thoughts.

The all too familiar outline of the Beauxbaton carriage appeared rapidly on the horizon, glittering across the sky somehow wholly unnoticed by the non–magiques around them. Elephant-sized, golden Abraxans flapped their wings, hauling a powder-blue carriage more significant in size than her mother's cottage.

And Hermione welcomed the nostalgic feeling as Gabbie bounced up and down with glee. 

It took mere moments for the broad carriage wheels to touch down, a soft waft of air rushing excitement through the crowd. Murmurs erupted, followed by cheerful applause as a small elf in a full powder-blue suit appeared, pulling down a set of solid gold plated steps. The door swung open rather enthusiastically, followed by the welcoming face of Madame Catherine - the Deputy Headmistress who had informed Hermione many years ago that she possessed magic.

"'ello, my beautiful and 'andsome students," she sang with a gleeful smile. "Are you all ready to board ze next leg of your lives?" 

A chorus of cheers rang throughout the garden as the students and their families applauded. Deep happiness filled Hermione, a broad grin stretching her lips as she turned to Apolline and Monsieur. After a tight embrace and a soft kiss to each girl, Hermione joined her host sisters in bidding their farewells.

Their trunks disappeared as they passed through the carriage doorway. Gold-trimmed, cream wallpaper greeted them in the expansive foyer, which opened into a large sitting room holding multiple sofas and chairs. Marble floors sparkled in the sun streaming through the windows, leading up to a dual-sided staircase to the second floor.

"Ah, ze Delacour family," a silken-clad girl sang with a happy smile, holding a powder-blue scroll open. "Ze second floor, zird room on ze right."

"Merci," Fleur grinned, lacing her fingers with her younger sister and bouncing their hands eagerly, tugging her along. 

Hermione followed her host sisters through the embellished halls, smiling at the portraits that welcomed them along the way. Their sitting room was just as she remembered, a roaring fireplace fronted by an ornate sofa, sided by two chairs. Into which Hermione sank promptly and pulled from her bag the nearly untouched copy of Hogwarts, a History she discovered deep within the Delcour library. 

Gabbie disappeared about an hour into their trip, seeking out the friends as young girls did. Fleur spent a good deal of her time with the professors on board, helping monitor the carriage. And Hermione let herself fall into her subconscious thoughts of Hogwarts.

Sifting through thoughts of what it would be like to start fresh somewhere new. To meet people who wouldn't bully her or ignore her. To make friends that didn't know every misstep she'd made in her past. She loved Beauxbatons with her entire being, but the students were cruel at times.

A soft knock rapped thrice on their door hours later, finally pulling Hermione from her reading, indicating. Thirty minutes separated her, and the haven she so happily called home. Hermione closed her book, standing and casting a de-wrinkling charm on her skirt before waking Gabbie and Fleur, who had fallen asleep on the couch upon their return.

Gabbie nearly full down the main staircase in her excitement, her classmates clamouring at the door as the carriage touched down. Their excitement was palpable as they filed from the carriage doors. And when Hermione stepped down from the golden stairs, a deep smile grew across her features as if it were her first time witnessing the scene.

No matter how many times she saw the beautiful Beauxbaton chateau, the sight left Hermione breathless. The smooth white limestone shined under the low sun, reflecting the sunset against its exterior as the blue metal roof tinted slightly purple. Spires jutted into the air, making the large castle appear as though it were crafted based on fairytales.

The trees of the somewhat dense forest about the grounds were already shedding leaves for winter, the smattering that still hung on painting the backdrops in yellow, red, orange, and the occasional purple. Perpetual warming charms heated the air that never seemed to stale, and the crisp, crystal clear water surrounding the castle rippled under a soft breeze.

Hermione smiled, releasing a breath she hadn't known she was holding as she watched Gabbie and her new classmates skip down the pebble-laden path to the courtyard. Where not only did the school heads wait to lead them to the welcome feast, but the statue of Sir Nicholas Flamel and his lovely wife Perenelle stood to greet them.

Hermione lingered before the sculpture momentarily, eyes darting over Perenelle's hand resting softly on Nicolas' cheek. Crystal blue water flowed from the stone fountain - said to be centuries old and contain healing and beautifying properties. Though Hermione knew that was merely a myth - more than once, she found herself doused in the water, and it did little to stave the acne that frequented her chin.

A strong shoulder pushed into her back then, causing her to stumble forward and nearly drop her school bag into the fountain. A dreadfully familiar chorus of loud cackles rang behind her, causing a roar of disgust to ripple her lip into a sneer.

"I see your shoulders have broadened," Hermione snarled, not needing to turn to know who'd just bumped her.

A hand on her shoulder spun her quickly, the teasing grins of three girls from her year filling her sights: Giselle, Annabella, and Dita. Three undeniable reasons she was glad to be visiting Hogwarts this year. The brat pack, as Hermione chose to call them, were inseparable. They did everything together, including their favorite activity: tormenting Hermione at any opportunity.

For years, they'd been at it, their first scathing quip just days after the start of term in first year when Hermione couldn't identify an herb in potions class. They shifted from quips at her ineptitude to mocking her for always studying or for her hair or her teeth, their tormenting breeding an ingrained need to be top of the class, to be perfect. And it never stopped, even hindered her ability to make any genuine friends outside of her host sisters and professors. 

It wasn't until their fourth year when Hermione finally decided enough was enough, charming her cloak to hex boils along Giselle's arms if she bumped her. The girl's small scars had ignited an onslaught between the three and Hermione throughout their fifth year. And Hermione was glad for both her hair and her happiness to be leaving them behind.

"Daydreaming again, bookworm? How surprising," Giselle mocked.

Hermione scoffed rather indignantly, shrugging her shoulders. "At least I'm capable of enough thought to manage."

"Probably wishing someone would love her."

"Love? Someone to even like her!" The third girl cackled.

Giselle, the taller and more broad of the three, grinned somewhat mischievously as she withdrew her wand. And the fountain's spout shifted and crashed over Hermione's head, soaking her and her school bag through. Her rebellious curls slapped against her face as loud laughter engulfed her, cackles that she looked like a wet Pygmy Puff, swelling her anger.

"I bet she can't even dry herself!"

"Probably never learned the spell," Giselle cackled.

And a moment later, a thick cloud materialized above her tormentors, promptly pelting a torrential downpour of water. Madame Kimathi, the International Magical Studies professor, strode to Hermione's side at that moment, a stern look on her face as the three girls shrieked loudly, shielding their hair and faces as they ran toward the chateau.

"Mz. Granga, de 'eadmistress would like to speak wit you," Madame Kimathi spoke, flicking her wand, and Hermione welcomed the warmth that dried her thoroughly.

"Of course. And thank you, Madame."

"You should 'ex dose gurls agan," Professor Kimathi joked, turning and leading Hermione through the egregious entrance doorway.

A nostalgic fragrance wafted against her senses as they passed the Dining Hall. The joyous students' laughter gradually died away as Hermione followed her Professor through the halls, heels clicking on marble until she stood before Madame Maxine's office door.

Madame Kimathi bid Hermione good night before that young witch knocked thrice on the gold-lined door. It opened somewhat, and Hermione pushed it wide, sights connecting with the half-giantess behind her desk.

"Ms. Granger. Please," Madame Maxine greeted, lofting a hand toward a chair in front of her desk. "I trust you 'ad an excellent summer' oliday?"

"Yes, Madame. It was lovely," Hermione returned, sealing the door behind her and crossing the chamber, sitting delicately in the proffered chair with her legs crossed at her heels and fingers laced over her lap.

"The Delacours are still treating you well?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Wonderful. Enough pleasantries," the Headmistress waved off, her brashness nothing unfamiliar. "I 'ave asked you 'ere to share some news you may find exciting. I have conferred with 'eadmaster Dumbly-dor, and should you be willing, we' ave agreed to allow you to complete the 'ogwarts curriculum this year."

Shock coursed through her veins, her breath catching lightly as a wide grin spread across her lips. As the words of a dream come true lingered in the air between the two women. A statement that rivaled only learning of her magic for the happiest moment in her life.

"Truly?" Hermione screeched but winced a touch at her raised voice before her Headmistress.

Madame Maxine laughed boisterously, starting Hermione, who scarcely saw the woman smile. "Yes, dear. You are my brightest student. I know our instruction does not challenge you sufficiently."

"I…"

"No need for niceties," the Headmistress delivered. "I know you are bored with our coursework. I find it refreshing. Numerous andouilles walk my 'alls, and it is nice to 'ave at least one student who values 'er education so immensely."

Hermione snickered slightly at the quip, beaming. "Thank you, Headmistress. That means a great deal to me."

"So, you are interested?"

"Yes! Of course!" Hermione squealed somewhat, recoiling at her second measure of brashness before her Headmistress.

"Zen plan to meet ze 'eadmaster after ze welcome feast upon our arrival. You will need to purchase your textbooks after selecting your course load from zis document," Madame Maxine stated, thrusting a thin sheet of parchment across her desk, dismissing Hermione with a wave of her hand. Still, Hermione could see the proud turn up of her lips. 

Excitement undulated in Hermione's soul as she stood, curtseying deeply before pacing from the chamber. Her thoughts were entirely scattered, flickering between fantasies of Hogwarts courses and the wood nymphs' melodious lyrics as the student body ate their welcome feast. She caught not one word of Madame Maxine's welcome address, her eyes examining her potential class list over and over, striving not to select each course.

Excitement poured through her quill as she penned a note to her mother that evening, notifying her of the new development in her education. Hermione wrote last week of her upcoming journey to an institution she'd perpetually dreamed of visiting. And she knew her mother would be just as ecstatic for her about the opportunity to study under a slew of the most refined and well-educated professors in the wizarding world.

And after a quick note to her host family, informing them happily of her news and seeking assistance with her necessary supplies, she found herself lying awake in her bed. Excitement coursed through her fingers, her lips unable to hold back her grin as she tried to will herself to sleep.

Just a few short weeks waited between her and the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Between her and the education that she so desperately craved.


End file.
